


Eye of the Beholder

by flight815kitsune



Category: In the Flesh (TV)
Genre: M/M, Warming Up, prose-y
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-01
Updated: 2015-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-04 18:50:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3082709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flight815kitsune/pseuds/flight815kitsune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kieren noticing some changes in Simon</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eye of the Beholder

His dark hair hadn’t changed much. At least not yet. Someone at the treatment center had lamented their lost locks, their mother having believed a buzz cut was better than a ponytail for their son to have in his casket. It made you wonder how anyone might have worn their hair before all of this. Simon’s was not as short as it could have been, but it rarely dared to trespass to his face. When the strands the color of bistre ink contrasted his skin and it was a rare treat. The sort of moment to be found only after sleep or the rain. It seemed longer now than it had before, though maybe he just wasn't 

The change of tones in his skin was slowly going from fog to dawn. The pale grey of cloudcover to the faintest off-white seashell. The veins on his wrists and eyelids going from coal black to purple and blue. The skin was even beginning to reflect the light in the same way that living flesh did.

Track marks were fading, though they still remained dark.

The line down his spine was still a brushstroke of tar. It might not stay that way, or it could be like that forever. As much as he liked the contrast now, the potential was just as appealing.

He would have loved to have seen Rick’s marks change, too.

Lips went from smoke to lavender. The pale purple that some crocuses possessed when they peeked through the soil in spring. The faint tone that Jem’s pillowcase had been months after her hair dye had decided that it’s home was on everything but her hair. Still not the plush pink of the living, of course, but enough that the latest portrait had needed a pallet change. The number of times they quirked upward was also new, the smile changing the way his cheeks moved, the way he tended to tilt his face, the way his eyes crinkled-

His eyes had come the farthest. When they had met, they were sun-bleached bone. At some point after, they were cream. In a small doodle jotted down in colored pencil while he was feeling particularly inspired, they were the off-white of the underside of a maple leaf.

In the sun in May, they were pale jade.

On a day when he had wanted to kill Simon so thoroughly that they buried him a second time, they reminded him of bread mold.

When the anger had faded, they were the verdigris of patinated bronze.

Today, they were green.

Too much blue to be olive drab. Not enough blue to be seafoam. Too light to be grass. Too dark to be clover. Not a pure enough shade to match bottle glass, but muddy would never be the word to describe them. They were simply an undeniable, living, green.

He had made the mistake of too much grey once, early on. It had looked…off. Like it had when Simon wore the contacts. He had never considered it when they were in the treatment center. There had only been two choices there- blue or brown. Simon wore blue. Green suited him so much better.

Sometimes he whispered “Beautiful.” and it wasn’t clear if he meant the artwork or the one who had painted it.

Kieren didn’t know which he liked more.


End file.
